


touch me with slow hands (speed it up, baby, make me sweat)

by softeldritch (orphan_account)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Control, Rimming, Winnipeg Jets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:02:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21622999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/softeldritch
Summary: He’d tapped Kyle’s ass one the ice and told him, “go bother someone else,” with a grin in his eyes, and he’d given Kyle a molten look in the dressing room. Other than that, though, he’s been almost...distant?Which is a really good thing, actually. Connor being distant means he’s in a specific kind of mood.
Relationships: Kyle Connor/Connor Hellebuyck
Comments: 8
Kudos: 101





	touch me with slow hands (speed it up, baby, make me sweat)

**Author's Note:**

> so thursday i said on twitter i’d finally write connors filth after helle’s next shutout. then friday he got the shutout. behold: my Power,
> 
> (title from _body say_ by demi lovato)

“You should have another shower,” Connor says, when they’ve gotten back to their hotel room. 

He’s not looking at Kyle when he says it, just toeing off his shoes and checking something on his phone, and that’s how it’s been since they walked off the ice together. He’d tapped Kyle’s ass on the ice and told him, “go bother someone else,” with a grin in his eyes, and he’d given Kyle a molten look in the dressing room. Other than that, though, he’s been almost . . . distant? 

Which is a really good thing, actually. Connor being distant means he’s in a specific kind of mood. 

“Hey.” Kyle snaps back out of his own head at the low, easy sound of Connor’s voice. _ Now _he’s looking, his eyes dark, mouth quirking into a grin. “Don’t tell me I have to repeat myself, you should know better than that.” 

Oops. Kyle grins right back, almost managing to convey sheepishness. “I’m going,” he says, kicking off his own shoes, stepping out of his pants right there in the entrance of their hotel room. “You gonna join me?” He doesn’t wait for an answer—he might not get one, considering it’s Connor—and just heads towards the bathroom, stripping off his suit jacket and dress shirt on the way, dropping them unceremoniously on the ground. 

“You should have a long shower,” Connor says, like Kyle never said anything. Repeating himself, which is kinda funny, but Kyle’s not gonna point it out. “Thorough, y’know?” 

Kyle reaches into the shower and turns the knob until the water’s almost blisteringly hot. “Last chance to join in.” 

Warm, broad hands land at his hips so suddenly Kyle almost jumps. Connor crowds up against his back, hands sweeping up and down his waist, the folds and creases of his suit pressing into Kyle’s back. Kyle’s skin buzzes at the feeling, and the knowledge that he’s buck-ass naked while Connor seems to be still in his suit. 

“While you’re in there,” Connor says, his voice low and heavy in Kyle’s ear, his hands dragging down the front of Kyle’s thighs. “You’re gonna touch yourself.” One of his hands drifts; he wraps it around Kyle’s dick, already half-hard from the situation alone, and Kyle groans and bucks his hips into the warmth of Connor’s grip. “Like this.” He gives a few short, slow tugs. His lips graze Kyle’s shoulder. Kyle’s already burning out of his skin, breathing hard. Then Connor’s hand drops and he steps away, leaving Kyle cold and wanting. “But you’re not allowed to come, remember that.” 

Oh, so it’s gonna be one of _those _nights. 

“Sure you don’t wanna join me?” Kyle asks, his voice admittedly a little shaky. “Do it yourself?” 

Connor’s laugh is low and rich and warm. “Shower,” he says, then sends Kyle stumbling towards the shower with a smack on the ass that stings a little too much to be playful. 

“Watch it,” Kyle gripes, glancing over his shoulder as he steps into the shower. Connor just laughs, eyes sparkling, and waves amiably. It’s almost _too _satisfying to slide the glass door of the shower shut in his face, even if all it does is make him laugh harder. 

He already showered at the arena, but it’s no secret why Connor wants him to shower again. So Kyle washes himself again, thoroughly, just like Connor said. He uses the conditioner Connor likes the smell of for good measure, rinses himself of that and the soap suds—then stands in the spray of the shower for a minute, feeling the water pressure on his skin. There’s something about being doused with water that’s almost painfully hot, breathing in air that’s thick and warm with steam, that’s really relaxing. 

But Kyle’s not in here to relax. He thinks about Connor; Connor pressed warm and solid against his back, Connor’s mouth on his skin. Connor’s_ hands._

Kyle’s hands are smaller, but when he splays his own hand on his chest, skates over his nipple with his fingernails—it’s easy to pretend. He trails fingertips across his chest, gasping out a quiet, breathless moan when he pinches his other nipple and imagines it’s Connor doing it. Connor would probably spend a lot longer just doing _that_, taking him apart without even touching his dick, but Kyle doesn’t have his patience. 

His hand drags lower, down the grooves of his abs. Heat blazes under his skin. 

When Kyle finally curls a hand around his dick his legs tremble. He plants a hand on the shower wall for balance, gasping out “_fuck_,” on the first stroke, pleasure surging through him like an adrenaline rush. He does it again—not the way he’d normally do it, lazy and careless, but the measured, purposeful way Connor always touches him. 

The air’s too thick to breathe, the water too hot on his skin. Kyle’s head’s starting to swim, fingers a little too tight around his dick, thighs wavering as pleasure builds somewhere near the base of his spine. He twists his wrist and speeds up, head bowing forward as another whispered curse slips out between his parted lips. Electric heat courses through him, throbbing in his cock, in his belly, climbing up his spine and spilling out as a quiet groan. 

He’s climbing towards the edge, legs shaking violently, when Connor’s words echo in his head. His hand drops mindlessly to his hip. 

Fuck. Frustration burns through him, bright and uncomfortable. Kyle groans. 

His head drops forward even more, water dripping from his hair and down the slopes and angles of his face. For a long, agonizing moment the orgasm is still_ there_, ready to ignite—but then, slowly, it fades back into a lingering, shivery arousal buzzing through his entire body. 

Kyle stays like that for a while, hunched over, gulping down air that’s too hot and thick to really clear his head. Then, when his hands aren’t shaking so badly, he reaches down and starts again. 

It takes almost nothing to be back on the edge again. A few strokes, the echo of Connor’s low, languid voice in his head. This time, when he pulls his hand away, he’s gotta brace it against the slick shower wall to keep from reaching down and finishing the job. 

For a second, Kyle considers trying for three, but—well, he doesn’t hate himself. 

Instead, he turns off the shower and steps out on trembling legs, heaving down the slightly cooler air of the rest of the bathroom. He towels himself off so he’s not just dripping on the floor, wincing at how rough the towel feels on his oversensitive, overheated skin. Then, trying not to trip over his own feet, he heads back out into the hotel room. 

Connor’s sitting on the edge of their bed, flicking through a few TV channels, a blank expression on his face. He doesn’t look towards Kyle right away, and something clenches tight in Kyle’s gut, that he doesn’t even seem to _care _while Kyle’s already strung-up and on the edge. 

“All done,” he says, managing a casual tone as he steps into Connor’s space. Connor makes room for him between his legs, big hands coming up to frame Kyle’s hips, eyes crinkling in a grin. Kyle can’t really help it; he takes Connor’s face and leans down to kiss him, tasting mint toothpaste and the warmth of Connor’s mouth. The kiss makes him shiver, and he pulls back just enough to mumble, “what’s next on the schedule?” against Connor’s lips. 

Connor’s hands squeeze his hips, and he nips at Kyle’s lower lip. “Get on the bed,” he says, quiet and low. “Hands and knees.” 

Kyle complies, climbing onto the bed, feeling the weight of the mattress shift as Connor stands up. His heart pounds in the long, still moment he spends just _waiting_, warm and exposed. 

Eventually Connor follows him back onto the bed. He digs his knuckles into Kyle’s inner thigh, nudging his knees apart—then, without warning, he gets his hands on Kyle’s ass and licks over his hole. 

Kyle gasps like he’s been punched, elbows almost buckling. He barely manages to keep himself upright when Connor licks his hole again, hot and wet and _burning _when he’s already so on edge. “Fuck,” he says, shaky, almost laughing. “This kinda feels like more of a win for me.” 

Connor laughs, teeth grazing the base of Kyle’s spine. “Well, you _did _get a goal.” 

He doesn’t have the chance to respond before Connor licks him again, then starts eating him out properly. Kyle groans, legs shaking as his orgasm builds, his skin burning so hot it feels like he’ll melt. Connor’s relentless, fingers digging bruises into his ass as he holds Kyle open, beard scraping against his sensitive skin, and it’s setting his whole fucking body on fire. 

Everything tightens—his belly, his balls, his throat—and Kyle moans, low and reedy, fingers curling into the bedsheets as he struggles to hold himself upright. 

That’s when Connor pulls away. 

Kyle’s expecting it but it doesn’t make it any easier. A ragged groan slips through his clenched teeth, his entire body trembling so hard it’s almost painful keeping himself from slumping to the bed. “Con . . .” he mutters, trailing off, tongue tied and brain scrambled. 

“Remember the rules?” Connor’s hands sweep down the backs of Kyle’s thighs, warm and calloused. A pause. Connor pinches his inner thigh _hard_. “Kyle.” 

“Don’t come,” Kyle gasps, toes curling desperately. “I _know_.” 

“Oh, good,” Connor says, and Kyle can hear the grin in his voice, feels it all the way to the base of his spine. “Then this should be easy.” 

He pinches Kyle’s thigh, then licks into him again. 

Kyle’s head goes a little fuzzy as Connor eats him out. All he can focus on is sensation—Connor’s tongue, warm and wet and messy. His fingers pressing into the meat of Kyle’s ass, the bones of his hips, the muscle of his thighs. 

This time, when Kyle feels heat coiling low and dangerous in his lower belly, he grips so tightly at the sheets they almost rip and croaks out, “wait, I’m gonna—” 

Connor pulls back immediately, and this time Kyle’s arms give out. He lands awkwardly on his elbows, legs still shaking with the shock of being ripped away from the edge, dick smearing precome on his stomach. He gulps down air, eyes blurred as he stares at the wrinkled white sheets. 

“Good, Kyle,” Connor says gently, stroking up Kyle’s waist. “That’s really good.” 

Kyle doesn’t say anything, because coordinating both his brain _and _his mouth is asking way too much right now. 

Connor keeps doing it—bringing him to the edge only to leave him hanging—and Kyle loses track of time, of how many times he’s been so _close_. He can barely think beyond the warmth of Connor’s tongue. 

Eventually Kyle’s legs give out. He slips down onto the mattress, cock trapped against his belly, legs tangled in the sheets. Connor just follows him down and keeps going. 

“Please.” Kyle shakes his head, curls his fingers in the sheets. “Please, please, Con—” 

Connor pinches his thigh. 

“Wait, please,” Kyle babbles. He arches his back, not sure whether he’s trying to pull away or push closer. “Please, I can’t, I can’t—” 

The warmth of Connor’s mouth disappears, and Kyle muffles a quiet, breathless sob into the sheets. His entire body is shaking, his arms and legs too weak to move. It’s all just way too much, pleasure and pain burning through him bright as electricity. 

Apparently Connor isn’t giving him any time to rest. Kyle hears the snap of the lube opening; a few seconds later, two of Connor’s long, clever fingers slip inside him without pause. Kyle can’t even manage the energy to moan. Instead he bites at the sheets, thighs trembling when Connor crooks his fingers and massages his prostate. He thinks he might be barely breathing, with how lightheaded and dizzy he feels. It’s just so hard to _think _when his body’s so keyed up. 

Connor pulls his fingers out too soon. Kyle waits, listening to his silence through the blood rushing through his ears. 

Then Connor pats his ass affectionately. “Alright, up you get.” 

Uh. What. 

Kyle shakes his head, trying to turn enough that he can catch Connor’s eye, but his arms are too jellified to prop himself up. He mumbles something wordless into the sheets. 

Maybe it sounds enough like a question, though, because Connor grips his thigh a little too tightly for just a second, before running his hand up to squeeze his ass. “I feel like letting you ride me tonight,” he says amiably. 

_ Feel like _as though he’s not making every decision deliberately. _Letting you _as though Kyle has a choice. 

Finally, Kyle finds his voice. He shakes his head again, still struggling to catch his breath. “Are you kidding?” 

“Nope.” The mattress shifts as Connor moves; Kyle finally lifts himself up enough to see him knee-walking up to the head of the bed. His blood burns when he sees Connor’s still completely dressed, suit jacket and all, while he’s sprawled here on the bed a sloppy, naked mess. Connor settles with his back against the headboard, and pats his thigh, eyebrows climbing as he gives Kyle a heated look. “Are you coming over here or am I gonna have to take care of this myself?” 

Kyle knows what that means; Connor jerks off right in front of him, makes a show of it, and Kyle goes to bed sore and aching and completely blue-balled. He’s not exactly down for not getting laid on a night he scored a goal, thanks. 

“Okay, okay,” he sighs. “I’m coming.” 

“Not without permission.” 

Kyle snickers despite himself. “Really clever, man.” Connor grins right back at him, and for just a second he’s Kyle’s goofy idiot goaltender. 

Only for a second, though. 

After a moment to breathe, Kyle hauls himself back up onto his hands and knees, limbs shaking and useless. But he manages to climb into Connor’s lap, a knee on either side of his thighs. Even just holding himself up is hard—he wants to collapse against Connor’s chest, tuck his face into the side of his neck—but Connor said_ ride_, so he’s gonna do this properly. 

He fumbles at Connor’s pants for a second before he realizes he really doesn’t have the manual dexterity. “You mind getting your dick out for me?” 

Connor laughs. His hand winds through the damp curls plastered to the nape of Kyle’s neck, dragging him down into a sweet, lingering kiss. “You’re just lazy,” he mock-chastises, kissing the corner of Kyle’s mouth. “But I guess I can help you out this time.” Another kiss—this one’s a little harder, Connor licking into his mouth and making him even more breathless—and then Connor’s reaching between them, undoing his pants and tugging them and his boxers down just enough to get his dick out. 

Kyle stares for a second and maybe forgets to breathe. It’s just that Connor has a _really _nice dick. 

“I didn’t tell you to stare, did I?” Kyle’s eyes flick up and Connor’s watching him. His eyes are almost a dark, burnished gold in the soft hotel light, any hints of green gone, and Kyle shivers and crumples under the weight of their intensity. “Who got the shutout?” 

“I also got a goal, you know.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Connor’s grin is wicked. “That’s why I’ve been nice to you.” 

Kyle _could _argue that what Connor’s been doing isn’t nice at all, but. Hilariously, from Connor, it actually _is_. 

So instead, he shifts his weight, so he’s sitting over Connor’s cock. Then he slowly, carefully lowers himself down. 

The first press of Connor’s dick inside him has Kyle gasping. His fingers tighten on Connor’s chest, wrinkling the lapels of his suit. His thighs are burning but he keeps going, until his ass is flush with Connor’s hips and he’s so full he feels paralyzed by it. It knocks another gasp out of him. 

Connor stares up at him, a lazy smile playing around his mouth. “Go on,” he says, nodding at Kyle. “Show me what you’ve got.” 

Kyle levers himself up, thighs trembling. He’s been brought to the edge so many times that the drag of Connor’s dick over his prostate is electric, almost painful—but that doesn’t stop him from dropping himself back down, a garbled moan slipping out as his head bows forward. “_Fuuuck_,” he groans, trembling from the base of his spine all the way to his shoulders. 

“That’s it,” Connor says. “Keep going.” 

He rides Connor slowly. He can’t really manage anything more. It’s all so_ much_; the bright burn in his thigh muscles, the oversensitive spark of Connor’s dick inside him, the warmth of Connor’s hands resting on his hips. 

Then, very suddenly, Kyle sinks all the way down again, and it’s _too _much. 

He pauses, hands on Connor’s chest. He’s breathing too hard, his body’s completely boneless. “Sorry,” he whispers, shaking his head, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “Sorry, I—I can’t—” 

Strong arms wrap around him and haul him in against a broad chest. “It’s okay.” Connor pets his hair, soft and careful, and Kyle melts against him and lets his body go completely limp. He thinks Connor kisses his hair, but his brain’s fuzzy, completely blissed out on aching pleasure. “You did good, baby. You did so good.” 

Kyle can’t really move anymore. He’s totally motionless as Connor lifts him by the hips and carefully manhandles him onto his front, head pillowed in his arms. Connor pulls his hips up until his back’s at an obscene arch—then without a word, he fills Kyle again and _finally _starts to fuck him. Thorough and deep and _intense_. 

It takes a second for Kyle to realize that suddenly, he’s right on the edge again. “Fuck—Connor,” he chokes out, as Connor rolls his hips and the fire in his belly burns even brighter, “I’m gonna—can I, please—” 

Connor stops moving. 

“No, no,” Kyle whimpers, frustrated tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. “C’mon.” 

A low, mean laugh rumbles into the room. Connor’s hands tighten around his hips as he starts fucking him again. “Go ahead,” he says, and that’s all Kyle needed, really. 

He comes on Connor’s next thrust and it’s _devastating_. His whole head goes blank and his body feels like it’s actually, literally burning apart; everything is a hot, bright moment of pure, electrifying pleasure, dragging on longer than it should, frying all of Kyle’s nerves as he bites a muffled moan into his own arm. 

Connor doesn’t even give him a second to catch his breath. He just keeps fucking him—fucks him even harder and faster, actually—and Kyle can’t do anything but take it. His body still feels like it’s cracking open and breaking apart as Connor fucks him. 

It’s . . . nice. Trusting Connor to take him apart so thoroughly. 

Eventually Connor’s rhythm falters and speeds up. He groans and fucks Kyle through his own orgasm, fingers pressing painfully into his hip, one hand trailing up Kyle’s spine to bury in his damp curls. 

Connor’s a lot more gentle when he pulls out. He lowers Kyle’s hips to the bed carefully, pets at his thighs and his waist before climbing off the bed. “Be right back,” he murmurs. Kyle’s eyes drift open; he watches Connor strip out of his suit, staring at the breadth of his shoulders, the strength in his thighs. He watches as Connor disappears into the bathroom, coming out with a damp washcloth. Everything feels achy in the best way, like every muscle in his body’s sore from a workout. 

“So much for showering,” Kyle mumbles when Connor makes it back to the bed. “Gonna have to do it again anyway.” 

Connor crouches next to the bed. They’re almost at eye level now, and Kyle stares at Connor’s face; the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the warmth in his gaze when he reaches over to brush a damp strand of Kyle’s hair out of his face to tuck it behind his ear. He lingers for a moment, fingers wound into Kyle’s hair, then leans forward and presses a kiss to Kyle’s temple. 

“You’ll live without a shower until tomorrow,” Connor says as he stands. 

He cleans Kyle up with the washcloth, then disappears back into the bathroom again. This time he comes out with a glass of water, and Kyle watches him approach again. 

“Are you gonna sit up to drink this?” 

Kyle huffs out a laugh. “I can’t even feel my legs right now, dude.” 

“I’m guessing that’s a no.” Connor doesn’t wait for a response; he sets the glass on the bedside table then rolls Kyle onto his back, climbing onto the bed to help him sit up. They end up sitting against the headboard, Kyle half propped up against Connor’s shoulder. Connor helps him drink the water—his hands are still too clumsy to hold a glass—then they sit in silence. 

Kyle leans back, soaking in Connor’s warmth. He pats Connor’s bare thigh. “Congrats on the shutout, dude.” 

Connor kisses his hair. “Congrats on the goal, man.” 

As floaty and blissed out as he is right now, Kyle knows he’s definitely gonna be feeling this tomorrow. Probably not that smart when they’re playing again, but. Sitting here, tucked against Connor’s body, just breathing together? 

Totally worth it. 

**Author's Note:**

> 🤷🏻
> 
> [tumblr](http://soft-eldritch.tumblr.com/) // [twitter](http://twitter.com/softeldritch)


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